


Talk American To Me

by DizzyJae



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Explicit Language, M/M, accent fetish, filthy language, phone-sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-22
Updated: 2011-04-22
Packaged: 2017-10-18 12:46:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/189041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DizzyJae/pseuds/DizzyJae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames realizes he has a voice/accent fetish, and Arthur's voice is particularly stimulating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Talk American To Me

**Author's Note:**

> Written for CherryBina's kink-fest ((even though I was inexcusably tardy to the party)) for my own prompt because I'm lame lame lame.  
> Inspired by a Jimmy Carr comedy routine, just in case you read something a bit familliar.
> 
> Contains shameless filthy language and phone-sex.

The first time they’d met – on a job in Venice, Italy - he’d immediately noticed the accent. It wasn’t that the rest of him didn’t leave an impression; quite the opposite, in fact. The impression he left on appearance alone was delicious and indelible and made his whole body prickle with arousal. However, when he’d opened his mouth and that beautiful voice came out, it was as if nothing else in the world would ever get him hard again. Nothing except Arthur’s sharp, sexy accent.

Eames had heard plenty of Americans in his day. He’d spent half his teen years skulking around New York with a small-time drug ring, stealing wallets or packs of cigarettes and doing his best to learn to counterfeit money for deals. The accents he’d heard were rough, crude and very unappealing and even outside of New York, even while gallivanting around the world with Cobb for a few years before Venice, he’d never come into contact with a voice (or accent) quite like Arthur’s.

He assumed, perhaps, it was by association that he found the point man’s articulation particularly…stimulating. Cobb had escorted him into the warehouse they were using for the Italian extraction job and Eames had felt his jaw drop ever-so-slightly. Arthur looked so young back then, even at twenty-three, yet he was poured into one of his now signature suits, a plain black and burgundy number that was tailored to perfection.

It took every ounce of Eames’ strength and control not to physically drool all over his research files. Arthur was thin, wiry and sharp-featured, like he was born to look just as meticulous as he was with his work. When he’d marched up to Eames’ desk and thrust out his hand, Eames had still been too busy ogling him to really understand what was happening.

Cobb squinted at him over Arthur’s shoulder, “This is our new point man, Eames. He’s very good at what he does, so perhaps you should show him a little kindness and introduce yourself?”

Eames resisted his urge to reply “ _oh I want to show him a little MORE than kindness here, Cobb_ ,” and grasped the new point man’s hand.

“Hello there, I’m Eames. It’s a _pleasure_ to have you on board.”  Did he need to emphasize the word ‘pleasure’? Yes. Yes he did. Because it **was** nice to have a new face on the team, not because the new face was utterly fuckable. Not at all.

“Arthur, and thank you Mr. Eames.”

This is where Eames came utterly undone. With that short sentence, it was like someone had replaced his dick with an iron rod. Arthur’s accent was like nothing he’d ever heard before. As a forger, he was used to paying unnecessary amounts of attention to otherwise menial things; the shade of someone’s hair, the pace and style of walking and the cadence of one’s voice. Naturally, he’d find Arthur’s intonation more fascinating than someone else would.

It was different from the way Cobb would speak; casual words that seemed distant or lacked effort, slurring or blurring his words at the ends of his sentences, sighing or slightly hissing his “s”. It was definitely different from the stark New Jersey or New York accents he’d heard while cultivating his youthful skills.

No, Arthur’s voice was firm, to the point and maybe even a bit forceful. He had an educated lilt to his accent and every word seemed sharp, much like his appearance and there was an elegance to everything his said, even if it was as simple as the young man introducing himself.   It was also surprisingly deep, smooth, running over Eames’ skin like the flat side of knife; dangerous on one side, level on the other. It was simply unlike anything he’d heard out of the great western nation before.

Eames knew he was done for.

 

==+==

 

The first time he’d mentioned it, a year and a half later on a small job in Moscow, Arthur had snorted.

“Really, Arthur, your accent is quite…unique.” Eames was perched on the edge of Arthur’s desk as the younger man attempted to finish typing up the briefs.

“I don’t have an accent, Eames. You do.”

“Au contraire, darling. I’m English. I’m speaking English. This is how words are _supposed_ to sound; that means every other English speaking country has an accent. You and Cobb may both hail from America, but your accents are completely different.”

Arthur sat back in his chair, knowing he wouldn’t get any more work done until he’d appeased Eames’ desire for conversation. “I suppose you’re going to tell me what that difference is?”

“Naturally.” Eames smirked and inched himself further on the desk, shoving Arthur’s laptop and papers to the side. “You see, Cobb has this certain way about him. His mind is otherwise occupied, as you well know, and it is evident in the way he speaks. He also has that natural, Californian rhythm; it’s very informal and not particularly fussy. He speaks as though he’s just grateful to get the words out of his system. But you,”

Eames’ eyes darkened as he leaned forward to the chair where Arthur was peering up at him, arms crossed and eyebrows raised, “Your voice is all business. You speak with purpose, you speak with strength. Your sentences are neat, just like you are, and you usually don’t spend time fluffing up your sentences with unnecessary words. Everything about your voice screams control, even your inflection or your vocabulary when you’re angry.  Sometimes you sound incredibly posh, probably a token to your upbringing, which I assume was at the hands of a wealthy family from the east coast. You’re educated, you’re prim and proper and succinct and charming.”

Eames’ mouth had gone dry merely putting his new obsession into words, licking his lips as he watched the cogs turn behind Arthur’s otherwise stoic face. It seemed he was enjoying the spotlight. “So you see, darling,” Eames continued, “your accent is really quite different.”

“Hmm,” Arthur hummed thoughtfully, eyes locked on Eames, evaluating him. “So if you’ve figured this out about me, what have you got to say about your own accent then?”

“Funny thing about that, pet,” Eames chuckled, crossing his own arms as Arthur uncrossed his, “I can’t objectively assess my own voice; ego and all that, you understand.”

Arthur smirked then (Eames’ favourite of Arthur’s expressions) and casually adjusted his cufflinks, eyes drifting nonchalantly to the floor as if he had found what he was looking for in Eames’ face and conversation. “Well then Mr. Eames, maybe you should find someone who can do that for you while I get back to work.” And with that, he unceremoniously shoved Eames off his desk and set back to his typing.

Eames could have pouted if he wasn’t so fucking aroused.

 

==+==

 

The first time Arthur ever called him was to summon Eames to Toronto, to be a forger on a job with an extractor he’d never met. It may have been the most exciting moment of his life, picking up his cell phone to discover Arthur’s familiar, cool voice on the other end. He’d almost choked on the coffee he was sipping, the hot liquid scalding his throat on the way down, causing Eames to gasp throatily in reply to Arthur’s concerned “Are you alright?” on the other end of the line.

“I’m okay, I’m okay.” He rasped breathily into the phone.

There was a pause on Arthur’s end and Eames noticed the other man was breathing quite heavily. It was an odd moment or two, listening to the whisper of what seemed to be Arthur huffing, trying to regain control of his lungs.

“I should hope so.” Came the suddenly steady reply.

 Eames swallowed, already feeling his face heat up as Arthur’s words stroked his eardrums. “I was merely surprised at hearing your lovely voice on my cell, darling. You’ve never called little ol’ me before.”

“Yes, well,” Arthur cleared his throat, “there is a job if you’re interested.”  

“You don’t say. Tell me Arthur, will you be present for this one? Or are you playing the part of messenger boy for Cobb again like you did in Rio de Janeiro?”

Arthur chuckled, a warm sound that caressed Eames in all the right places. “I will be present – not that it’s of any importance to _you_ Mr. Eames – and Cobb will not. He’s busy running around Europe trying to find a way back home. This extractor wants as many experienced team members as possible, and you’re the best at what you do.”

His voice was completely flat, but a compliment from Arthur was rare and it went straight to Eames’ groin, already half-hard since Arthur’s calm, opening “hello”. He had half a mind to start stroking himself while the point man was still on the line, fucking his own hand as Arthur fucked his ear with that lust-inspiring lilt of his. He only vaguely remembered that the other man was expecting a reply and he’d be a fool to turn down any excuse to be around the source of his desire.

“Where is this job, exactly?” he asked, fingering the buttons of his shirt just to keep his hands preoccupied.

“Toronto.”

“Oh, Canada. It’s been a long time.”

“Of course, you’ll be given the full details when you arrive. How soon can you leave?”

“Darling, I haven’t even accepted your offer yet.”

Eames actually heard that challenging smirk he loved so much as it worked its way onto Arthur’s lips. “You and I both know you will.”

Eames had no reply.

“You’re in a hotel in Amsterdam. If you catch the next flight, you can be at Pearson International by morning. I’ll see you then, Mr. Eames.” With a click, Arthur disconnected leaving Eames feeling hot, confused and extremely horny. He glanced down at his lap with a groan, his erection straining the front of his trousers. This was something a cold shower and thoughts of his Nana could not fix.

With a sigh, he unbuttoned himself and slid a hand down into his underwear, grabbing his rock hard member. Admittedly, this was not the first time he’d masturbated to the thought of the point man; however, this was certainly the first time he’d done it after being so vividly reminded of his little fixation. He relived the conversation with each fevered stroke, bringing himself higher and higher to the memory of Arthur’s voice. Eames closed his eyes and reclined on the bed where he was sitting, his other hand still clutching his cell phone tightly. His breathing was ragged and his hand was dry but at this point he was too far gone to care. Eames was remembering Arthur’s small chuckle, the sound of the smirk on his mouth, the way his tongue formed Eames’ name and it was absolutely too much.

He arched up off the bed, spilling his completion all over his hand and his favourite shirt, a thin sheen of sweat slicked over his skin. It was intense and it wracked every nerve ending in Eames’ body, causing him to shudder as each wave coursed through his veins.

When it was all over, Eames flopped onto his side and placed his cell phone into the charger on his nightstand. It really wouldn’t do to lose battery power should Arthur feel inclined to call him again.

 

==+==

 

It was some time after the Fischer job when Arthur contacted Eames again. They’d gone their separate ways at LAX, as was customary after such an important job and Eames had booked the first flight home to London. In fact, he didn’t even leave the airport to sleep, just passed out at his gate with his coat over his head. When he arrived at his flat, there was a message on his machine from an unknown, private number. His own home number was unlisted and only his mother and sister knew what is was; naturally this caused him grave worry. He pressed the “review” button and leaned against the wall, bracing for the worst.

“Eames.” Arthur’s clear voice rang out in his mostly empty apartment. “According to my estimates, you’re still flying forty thousand feet above the ocean. I’ll be calling again at 11:30 pm London time-“ Eames hurriedly checked his watch, it was 11:25, “- so pick up. Don’t try finding this number, I’ll have gotten rid of it before you even get to your apartment. We need to discuss something.”

There was a beep as the message ended and Eames’ mind was reeling. He didn’t have a clue what Arthur could possibly want to talk about. He had kept his hands off during the Inception job, as was expected, and it seemed as though it was business as usual. There hadn’t been anything out of the ordinary. Okay, maybe Eames could have cut back on the teasing, especially in front of that new rookie Ariadne, but other than that there wasn’t a reason for Arthur to be calling him.

He couldn’t possibly have another job already. Could he?

Eames was startled out of his reverie by the loud, angry chime of his home telephone. Exactly 11:30; Arthur was nothing if not precise. Eames had to admire that.

He swiped the cordless phone off the charger but refused to press the ‘talk’ button for fear of seeming too eager. And boy, was he eager. Even if Arthur was calling to tell him that Cobb was dead, Eames would still love to hear his voice. His blood was already rushing as he sat down on his sofa, trying to get comfortable enough to finally answer the incessant ringing.

“Hello darling.” He chirped into the phone with the steadiest voice he could muster.

“I was going to hang up on you. I don’t have time for games, Mr. Eames.” Arthur’s voice barked from the other end. The noise sent shivers down Eames’ spine, curling all the way down to the tips of his toes. He grinned toothily to himself.

“I apologize. I don’t like to keep a lady waiting.”

“I refuse to take that bait.”

“Suit yourself. So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your voice, Arthur? We saw each other mere hours ago. Can’t stand to be apart from me?”

He heard Arthur inhale sharply and Eames licked his lips, tucking himself deeper into the couch, running a hand down his stomach to play with the button on his trousers. They’d barely been speaking a minute and already his cock was half hard. This was the Arthur Effect; the tantalizing way he did the most simple tasks could make even the straightest man reconsider his sexuality. And Eames apparently had a voice fetish, one that only included Arthur.

“Eames, is the flirting exactly necessary?”

“Only if you enjoy it, pet.”

“I _don’t_ , which is the reason why I’m calling.” Arthur’s voice tone instantly snapped into seriousness, expertly conveying that he did not want to mess around and was intent on having a stern conversation. He was calling Eames out and they both knew it. Somehow, that managed to turn Eames on even more.

Arthur continued, oblivious to the fact that Eames’ hand was now securely wrapped around his dick, eyes closed and breathing ragged.  
“When we’re on a job, _especially_ a job with new people, it is expected that we act professional. That doesn’t mean tipping my chair like an elementary school bully, or challenging my research in front of Cobb and everyone else. It also does NOT mean replying to compliments with sarcasm or condescension-“

“If I may butt in,” Eames said, swallowing down the groan of arousal, attempting to disguise it as a yawn, “You were being condescending _first_.” He bit his bottom lip as he freed his now fully erect cock from the confines of his underwear, stroking it with vigour, smearing pre-cum down the length as lubrication for his nearly violent fondling.

“That’s beside the point here, Eames!” Arthur was on the verge of shouting, his annoyance as clear as day. “The point is that your utter lack of professionalism needs to be fixed! How the fuck do you expect to gain respect in this world if you act like a goddamn child?!”

Eames actually had to move the receiver away from his ear, not only because of Arthur’s volume, but also because Eames could not suppress the loud, guttural moan that burst it’s way past his lips. He was trying to be discreet about this.

“Do you understand me Eames? Eames?”

“I’m listening darling –GOD – I’m listening.” It was too much. The jig was up. Arthur ground out his name through clenched teeth and Eames couldn’t stand it anymore. He replied breathily, heatedly, failing at last to mask his arousal. He groaned into the phone, thrusting his hips up into his hand, fucking his fist as fast as he could. “I’m always listening…every word…every syllable…”

“Eames, what the fuck are you…are you… _jacking off_?!” Arthur choked the words out, his tone changing from disbelief to something a bit darker. Eames felt his face heat up with mild embarrassment, but also from the way Arthur’s sinful mouth described his masturbation. He could imagine those lips, how he would crush his against them, bruising them, biting them and then push his dick between them and fuck them until they were raw.

“Couldn’t h-help myself darling,” he gasped as he took a moment to trace his pre-cum-slicked fingers over his sack, teasing himself while he listened as Arthur’s breathing became desperately uneven. “Your voice, your accent…ahh fuck! It makes me…unng so fucking hot, Arthur, god!”

There was silence on the other end and Eames could barely hear anything over the pounding of blood in his head. He needed Arthur to speak, pleaded with him over the phone to say something, anything to help him reach his peak.

“You’re fucking yourself to the sound of my voice?” Arthur said suddenly, his voice gone hoarse with what Eames could only interpret as need. If he thought he was excited up until now, he was almost ready to die at this. His knuckles went white, clutching the phone hard enough to break and Eames’ hand returned to his dick, squeezing the base to fend off his climax for just a minute longer.

“You like to hear me while you stroke that cock of yours? Do you imagine it’s me, Mr. Eames? Do you imagine that’s my mouth you’re fucking, me on my knees taking you all in and swallowing you whole?” There was a creak of furniture on Arthur’s end, the whoosh of fabric and Eames could imagine the point man lying on his bed, wherever he was, discarding all of his clothes and he had to ask.

“You touching yourself darling?”

There was a sharp cry as his reply. Eames was spurred on; he was known for a lot of things and incoherency was not one of them.

“I bet you are. I bet you’re imagining all the things you’re saying to me. You fucking love the thought of me screwing my hand and wishing it was you… Fuck yes…Arthur…I want you so bad.” The living room was entirely too hot and Eames was overwhelmed by the entire situation. Arthur was turned on, Arthur was stroking himself and it was all because of Eames.

“Do you even know what you sound like right now?” Arthur panted, his voice thick with lust.

“Tell me.” Eames whimpered, placing the phone on the sofa next to his ear to free up his other hand, running it down his chest and playing with his hardened nipples, pinching them tightly.

“You sound fucking filthy. Your mouth…AHH! YES! That fucking mouth of yours Eames I want it everywhere.” Eames could hear Arthur’s hand moving swiftly, drinking in the sounds as he stroked himself, his voice twisted with desire.

“I want you to be here, licking me, sucking me all over Eames. Then I want you to turn me over and eat me, fuck me with your tongue until I cum screaming your name.” There was a strangled moan from Arthur’s end that sent electric shocks all through Eames’ body, lighting his core with fire and he knew he was close.

“Yes darling, that’s it. Imagine that’s me with you. I’ll lick your dirty hole until it’s wet and sloppy…ffuucckk Arthur. I’ll push you into the mattress and ram my hard cock into you until you’re begging in that pretty little voice for me to cum inside you. Do you want that?”

“Yes Eames! I need you! Fuck me!” That voice, begging…

“I will, pet. I’ll fuck you so hard you won’t be able to cum with anyone else ever again. I want you to finger yourself now Arthur. Cum for me now, I’m so fucking close.” Eames’ strokes were lightening fast, almost painful as he let his free hand trace circles around his own puckered entrance. He needed to hear Arthur cum first, he waited for it.

“E-Eames, I’m cumming! I-I’m…” Arthur’s keening moan devolved into a loud cry, throaty and guttural in all the right ways. Eames could hear him shudder, and the shuffle of the phone as Arthur rode his orgasm with long gasps. The forger closed his eyes and pictured it, pictured the lines of Arthur’s body stretched taught in climax, his mouth hung open and his eyes screwed shut.

The image paired beautifully with the sound and it was enough to send Eames over the edge, growling Arthur’s name like a mantra as strings of pearly white cum splashed over his fist and his clothes. It was intense and it rocked every muscle in his body and stole the oxygen from his lungs. He’d never experienced a climax like this, not with any of the casual twinks he’d pushed face-first into motel beds imagining they were the point man. He hadn’t even _touched_  Arthur, but it was the best orgasm Eames had had in his life.

 He lay there on his couch, panting in tandem with Arthur’s own weighted breath. He couldn’t believe it had actually happened. He, Eames, had just had phone sex with Arthur, the most uptight, impassive but gorgeous man on the face of the planet and it had been fucking amazing. Unexpected in every way, but still fucking amazing.

Eames could hear Arthur stir on the other end, no doubt shuffling about the clean himself up. After a few minutes, the voice that had brought him so much pleasure spoke to him once again, startling him out of his fucked-out, post-coital bliss.

“Eames?”

“Hmm?”

“You better get your ass on the next flight to L.A.”

And with that, Arthur hung up. Eames couldn’t help the shit-eating grin that spread across his lips.

 

His ass would be on the next flight, for sure. Nothing could possibly keep him away.

 

 


End file.
